


Long Distance

by frankannestein



Series: Lightning and Hope [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII Series, Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: Awkward Romance, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22925380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankannestein/pseuds/frankannestein
Summary: Oneshot. Hope and Lightning meet in the new world.
Relationships: Hope Estheim/Lightning
Series: Lightning and Hope [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1647616
Kudos: 5





	Long Distance

_It is said that the will of men determines the fate of this world where god doesn’t exist. In that case, I choose to believe that if I strongly wish for it, an even more glorious future awaits her. May this woman, who was once a brilliant light in that other world, chance upon hope_ _–_ _this was the wish I made, and it was like a prayer, a promise.”_

– Aoede, “Final Fantasy XIII: Reminiscence ~Tracer of Memories~”

  
_You can't just build something up like that, and then abandon me._ Once, in that other life, he’d said that to her. Not to her face; no, at fourteen, his shyness around – well, anybody, really – kept his gaze glued to the ground, but he’d said it all the same, voice humiliatingly raw with confusion and pain. She’d had to admit that she was wrong, something that was nearly impossible for her, to save him from his self-destructive spiral into black hatred, and that was how he’d thanked her. He still remembered every single bit of advice she’d given him back when they’d been hunted as l’Cie. When she had risked everything to change their fates.

Young as he’d been, he hadn’t loved her then. That came later. He’d respected her. Looked up to her. Trusted her.

With his very soul.

And she had trusted him with hers.

_Lightning. I_ _–_ _me, too. I mean, at least I_ _’_ _ll try. I_ _’_ _ll try to watch out for you, too._

In the end, they’d saved each other. Bhunivelze had stolen him from his unnaturally long life, kept him in solitude in the derelict, man-made Cocoon. Tortured him. Forced him to be reborn from the Chaos again and again until his emotions leached from him like coffee from grounds. All so that Bhunivelze could make Himself at home in Hope’s body, and return the broken shell to the boy Lightning once knew to control her, this divine Savior He’d created. But the God of Light hadn’t managed to completely erase Hope’s soul thanks to Lightning. Hope, in turn, had answered her frightened cry for help in the world of her own subconscious.

In all those long years of Chaos chained to an emotionless god, he might have despaired. He might have gone quietly into the darkness once Bhunivelze was finally done with him, but his friends had reminded him that he was hope itself. The reminder was in the warmth of Snow’s brotherly hand messing up his hair. It was Dajh’s infectious giggle and Sazh’s raucous laugh. It was Vanille’s shining wonder, pulling Fang along. It was Noel and the final Yeul, their love for each other silent and powerful.

It was the beauty and vulnerability of Lightning’s smile as she held her beloved sister’s hand for the last time.

Everything he had ever done, he’d done for her smile. Hoping that she would see his work back and forth through time, and understand.

His was the last soul that she’d saved. He had saved the Savior.

She was free.

But was he?

* * *

_I’ve got your back._

The words are there, even if he doesn’t recall the sound of her voice. He’s never heard it in this life, after all.

_You call the shots now._

Hope shuts down his workstation for the night. With the rattle of plastic wheels over linoleum, he pushes his chair away from his desk and scrubs both palms over his face, his tired eyes. The lab is silent and dim. He is the last one in the office. As usual.

When his hands drop, his eyes fall on a manila folder, thick with paperwork, tagged with Post-It flags and paper clips. His own writing scrawls across the front of it.

“Chronicle of Chaotic Era.”

It contains his memories. All of them, from the Purge through the final day and the battle against Bhunivelze. Centuries of work, research, knowledge, and the tale of the ten people responsible for it all. Technically, he has not lived those memories, but they are there. Lightning has saved them for him, brought them and everyone else’s to the new world intact. Not everyone remembers, though. Just the former l’Cie and those closest to them: Lebreau, Maqui, Yuj, and Gadot, Snow’s old gang. The Eden journalist, Aoede.

He stares at the file as if expecting it to speak like an oracle.

There has to be more to it. A reason for Hope’s new life to be burdened with the old.

_Don’t go chasing after enemies. It’s a surefire way to get ambushed._

Aoede has left. Hope is proud of her for tracing as many memories of that other world as she has, and maybe he’s grateful, too. He’s been in contact with Sazh, but only Sazh. Now, after Aoede tracking them down, he knows where Serah is. Snow. Fang and Vanille. Yeul and Noel.

His friends, reborn in the beautiful new world they wrested from a cruel god.

_I’m right behind you._

It’s not easy to live surrounded by strangers. Especially when some of them he remembers very well. Like the new intern, Aina Stein. The moment she walked through the door to shake his hand, he knew her, the kind of work she produces, her field of expertise.

The one person he longs to see, he suspects, will never touch him in this life. For him, she will remain a memory.

_Time to move._

He stands, scooping up the folder and several other files , unconsciously smoothing his tie as he does. He puts everything away, locks it up tight.

Then he makes his solitary way home.

* * *

_Trust me to cover your tail, and stay focused on moving forward._

“So she asks me if she can use the restroom,” Rhett says. His hand seeks the back of his head and rubs ruefully.

“Who is this now?” Hope dodges a mother and her two young children on the way to the galerie marchande. It’s lunchtime. He’s hungry and ready for a break, but his mind is only partly on the conversation.

“Jihl. Rhett’s intern. Have you seen her?” Karl butts in before Rhett can answer. “Pretty girl, but zero sense of humor. She’s got a stick shoved up her –”

“Yeah, so, Tipur thinks he’s hot snot, and he asks her, ‘I don’t know, can you?’ ” Rhett says, taking his story back. An admiring grin spreads across his face. “And Jihl, cool as you please, she straightens her glasses and says, ‘Let’s find out,’ and out of the lab she goes. Doesn’t even give him a glance.”

By this time, Rhett and Karl are both snickering, and even Hope can’t hold back a chuckle. “Is that what all the fuss was about?” he asks.

“Nah, that was when Tipur tried to ask her out when she came out of the ladies’. She flipped him the bird and called him a pervert,” Karl says. “We had to break it up. Chick’s got a mean left hook.”

The three of them stumble, trying to walk and laugh at the same time and failing.

Then Hope sees her, sitting alone at an outdoor table at the little corner café. A cappuccino steams in front of her. Sunglasses protect her eyes. Her elbow rests on the table as she taps at the phone in her other hand. It’s the most natural scene in the world, yet it strikes him like a jackhammer in the stomach. Instantly, his laughter dies. His eyes widen, he forgets to close his mouth. It’s possible, from the sudden pain in his chest, that his heart stops beating as well.

Rhett and Karl notice. They look where he’s staring.

Her hair is a dark rose in the sun, waving over her shoulder. Never having been very tall, she is especially petite, dressed in a white shirt and khaki capris. Karl lets out a low, appreciative whistle, not loud enough to be heard over the shoppers.

“Someone you know?” Rhett asks mildly.

“A long time ago.” His voice is quiet. Stunned. White, he thinks. That was always her favorite color.

Hope’s last memories of Lightning are of her as the Savior. By then, she hadn’t been entirely human thanks to the interference of Etro and Bhunivelze, more than half a goddess with part of her heart carved away. The woman at the café table is beautiful, but in a human way. She wears lip gloss. Her legs are crossed. A small suitcase rests against her ankle. She smiles at her phone. She’s thinner. More ladylike. She has been born into a world where she no longer needs to fight.

“Old flame?” Karl pries.

Hope shakes his head with a self-deprecating smile. “Not by a long shot.”

“Well, what are you gonna do?”

_Keep calm. We don’t need to rush._

“Tell you what,” Hope says, tearing his eyes from her. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

“Sure,” Rhett says, as easygoing as always.

“Good luck,” Karl adds.

“Thanks.” Hope pats Karl on the shoulder and then breaks into a jog. He crosses the street, weaving through the shoppers and passersby. As he nears the café, more details come into focus. Like the earbud in her ear, its partner trailing down to hang against her shirt. She is listening to music but is open to conversation. He wonders what kind of music she likes. Every once in a while, she glances up; at the sky, the sun, the trees rustling in the breeze, her beverage, blooming flowers. Mostly, she watches the people.

She seems so happy.

* * *

Then she sees him.

Her reaction is near identical to his. The smile slips off her face and she shoots to her feet.

“Hope,” she says.

Her voice is another shock to his system. It is low for a woman’s, but breathy and feminine. Somehow, he knows what her voice sounds like when she is angry, in pain, sarcastic, resigned, and shouting across a battlefield. It is only his name he hears, but there’s a universe of meaning behind it.

He says the first thing that pops into his head. “Welcome back, Light.”

It’s a reflex response. That was what Hope said to Lightning back in those cloudy days of half consciousness on the Ark. Thirteen days of welcoming her home after a grueling twelve hours of collecting souls in Nova Chrysalia before the Chaos consumed everything. It was a terrible time. Why did he bring it up?

“Thank you, Hope.” It sounds as if she likes the taste of his name.

“May I join you?” he asks, quieter than ever.

“Please.” It’s terribly formal, but she indicates the chair across the table and takes her own, removing the earbud and her sunglasses as she does. Her eyes are still the color of a tropical sea. A calm hue for such a turbulent woman.

After a tense moment, he folds his hands on the table and looks over at her through his lashes. “There’s so much to talk about, I don’t know where to start.”

_You’re doing fine, Hope. Keep it up._

“I know.” She smiles. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah. It’s good to see you, too.” It’s a gross understatement, but he lets it pass. Something else bothers him. “Have you seen Serah?”

Her happiness is a tangible thing. “I have. Before I came here. She’s doing well.”

“Good,” he says. Suddenly, strangely, his eyes feel hot and prickly. He lifts a hand to shade them, and the tabletop swims in his vision. “That’s good. I’m happy to hear that.”

His voice shakes, and he stops. All that time. All those battles. All Lightning had ever wanted was to protect her little sister. To be with her again. They may not be sisters now, but the love they shared would never dissolve. He wants to revel in her joy, but all he feels is a crushing sadness instead.

“Hope.” Concerned, she reaches across the table, covers his hand with her own. “Thank you.”

_Don’t stray too far._

“Right.” He comes out of hiding and grins. What is the matter with him, acting like a child? “I’m fine.”

_Stay alert._

He doesn’t fool her. “You fought alone for so long,” she murmurs, sitting back. “I’m sorry.”

“Me?” He’s honestly surprised. “I never thought about it that way. It was you that –”

He stops, confused, but Lightning’s expression tells him everything. She’s always been easy to read, once he ceased being scared of her and glimpsed the kindness she was capable of. The warm, maternal side of her that, before him, only Serah had seen.

She knows that he loves her still. Across time, across space, across their new lives. Not only that, but she has feelings for him, born of their mutual struggle. Of them all, she and Hope understand each other the most. It’s why she took so long to track him down. Fear kept her distant.

Even reincarnated, she sucks at relationships.

He finds this funny. Lightning wasn’t perfect then, and she isn’t now. She covers her embarrassment with a scowl, crossing her arms, but he can’t stop grinning.

What does she see when she looks at him? Not the child she knew before, that was for sure. Bolstered by the thought, he leans toward her.

“Light, I –”

_Concentration’s important, but never lose sight of what’s happening around you._

“Hello, can I bring you anything to drink?”

A server appears, smiling. Hope snaps back and Lightning sits up, both trying to pretend that the boy hadn’t interrupted anything. They order soup and sandwiches, coffee for Hope. Lightning sips her neglected cappuccino.

They turn to safer topics. What they’ve been doing, Hope’s work, Lightning’s journey. They talk about Serah and Snow, Chocolina, Sazh, and Dajh. Noel, Yeul, Fang, and Vanille. Everyone is happy.

“Your wish came true, Light,” Hope says, settling the bill. Although she resisted, he insisted and won.

Lightning nods. “That’s because it was everyone’s wish, not just mine.”

She stands, gathering up her phone and the handle of her suitcase, reminding Hope unpleasantly that she has a home somewhere else. A life. That this is just a visit. “I have to go now,” she says. “I’ll catch you later.”

_Never panic. Calm heads make good decisions._

He also stands. “Will I see you again?”

It’s obvious she’s been avoiding this question, but now that it is aired, Lightning squares her shoulders to tackle it. She looks up at him. Hope is diverted by how short she is compared to him, when once he’d had to look up to her. She tilts her head, considering her answer. Then, with a faint smile, she leans close, puts a small hand on his chest, rises on her toes, and kisses his cheek. It’s quick, barely felt, and he can only smell her after she’s put space between them again. Sweet, like roses. Her shampoo, maybe, or her perfume. He is sad when it is gone.

“I hope so,” she whispers. “I don’t know what will happen.”

“No one does,” he answers. “That’s part of the fun of living without gods, isn’t it?”

“Right,” she says with her breathy laugh. She tosses a wave as she walks away.

“Right,” he agrees, so quietly that even he is not sure if the word is real.

* * *

_I only know that soon, we will be together._

Hope clocks out on time. Lightning has left him to continue her journey, but some of the loneliness and sorrow have faded. Because she has given him hope.

**Author's Note:**

> In this oneshot, I used quotes from the original game, specifically the Gapra Whitewood sequence, to tie Hope’s past with his futures. The foundation was there; I expanded on it.


End file.
